


Paper and Gold

by Laura Shapiro (laurashapiro)



Series: Leaves of Grass [11]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Bathing/Washing, Begging, Blow Jobs, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Come Eating, Come Feeding, Come Sharing, Coming Untouched, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), D/s, Dirty Talk, Dom Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fluff, Food Porn, Foot Massage, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Intercrural Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Massage, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Other, Pillow Principality Aziraphale (Good Omens), Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Shrimping, Sub Aziraphale (Good Omens), Tickling, Top Crowley (Good Omens), foot worship, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:15:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23034616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurashapiro/pseuds/Laura%20Shapiro
Summary: Aziraphale did, in fact, think too much. That had always been the trouble. Crowley had never blamed him for it; after all, they were made of the same stuff, and Crowley’d had his own version of Heavenly abuse to deal with. Aziraphale, he’d always believed, had chosen the harder path. The longer one, at any rate. And with it came too bloody much thinking.Crowley knew he was -- had always been -- good for Aziraphale. Well, bad for Aziraphale, by which he meant good for Aziraphale. Sometimes this was because he made Aziraphale thinkmore, or thinkdifferently(and Aziraphale would call it temptation but it never was, not once). But the most precious gift he had to offer, Crowley sometimes thought, was to help Aziraphale turn his brain off for a while.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Leaves of Grass [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1406341
Comments: 98
Kudos: 516
Collections: Top Crowley Library





	Paper and Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ileolai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ileolai/gifts).



> [Leaves of Grass](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1406341) universe, but can be read as a stand-alone.
> 
> This is a gift for [ileolai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ileolai), who deserves it, and who waited patiently.

Crowley scrolled through his Twitter feed impatiently. Typically, he’d fall down the 16:9 rabbit hole of his phone for hours, creating fake Grindr profiles, spreading (incorrect) celebrity gossip, and sucking down the hottest runway looks and prestige dramas without knowing where the day had gone. But today wasn’t a typical day.

Today, he and Aziraphale were booked into a lavish bed and breakfast on the outskirts of Edinburgh for a holiday weekend, so that Aziraphale could enjoy the book festival and Crowley could indulge him in the manner to which he had not been accustomed. Not yet.

Crowley had picked him up at an unSatanly hour that morning to get into town by 5pm, having bolted six coffees in rapid succession in order to undertake this heroic achievement. It went off without a hitch, Aziraphale arrived at the festival in time for the evening kickoff event, with only the usual amount of white-knuckling and criticism of Crowley’s driving along the way, and the beaming smile he threw Crowley as he climbed out of the Bentley to join his fellow literary types was worth the effort it took to heave Aziraphale’s four (four!) suitcases up to their garden view room. Crowley was conserving his miracles. He had plans.

It would be hours and hours before Aziraphale called (from a phone box; Aziraphale steadfastly refused to get a mobile). Crowley had made their dinner reservations -- Number One’s tasting menu featured oysters with lovage, duck foie gras with truffles, and venison with pickled pear, nothing but the best for his angel -- laid in a few bottles of Krug Grande Cuvée and a box of high-end chocolates, and booked an assortment of ridiculously elaborate treatments at a neighboring spa. Their en suite also boasted a jacuzzi tub which, with a little demonic influence, would be big enough for two.

Aziraphale had missed the Edinburgh International Book Festival last year, because the Edinburgh International Book Festival took place in August. It had probably gone on as usual, with none of its attendees the wiser. In the ranking of things Aziraphale had lost in 2019, Crowley reckoned this highlight of his year barely registered on the scale. But he’d be blessed if his angel missed it again, ever. Even though it happened on what was now, in a way, their anniversary.

Crowley had completed his preparations and returned to social media, where he was just about to finish up an elaborately nested Rickroll, when his phone buzzed. Already? It was barely half six!

“What’s wrong?”

“Darling, I know it’s early, and I hope it’s not terribly inconvenient for you, but I think I might be ready to leave.”

Aziraphale didn’t sound as if there were angelic or demonic influences about the place, didn’t sound as if he were in trouble. He just sounded...disappointed. That was bad enough.

“Not a problem, angel. I’ll be right there. Ten minutes.”

“Thank you. Oh, thank you.” Crowley put down the phone and grabbed his keys.

\--

“I really am sorry to trouble you,” Aziraphale said, as Crowley opened the Bentley’s door for him. “I’m sure you must have had plans for the evening.” Crowley had been surprised to discover that Aziraphale was not struggling to carry several bags of books -- in fact he didn’t appear to have bought anything at all -- but he held the door for him anyway. Aziraphale hadn’t apologized to him this much in ages, and his face was ashen, hands trembling as they fidgeted with his waistcoat. Unacceptable.

“It’s no problem.” Crowley threaded through the crowded street fronting Charlotte Square and made for their lodgings as quick as he could. “What happened?”

“I -- I feel rather foolish to be so upset. It was nothing, really.”

“It’s not nothing if it has you running from your favourite event of the year. Come on, out with it. Or --” Aziraphale was looking down at his hands. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “You know I was very excited about the event with Ethan Standhope? He’s a very prestigious scholar, an historian and sociologist and I’ve admired his books on the impact of minor religious movements in China and India for several years now. Well, he has a new book out on Greece and he was speaking about it today. And, um, he was wrong, in several important particulars.”

Ah, Crowley could imagine where this was going. “Of course he was wrong. He wasn’t there. Never understood how you could read histories. Humans always get it wrong.”

“You’d be surprised. Anyway, it’s not as if we could have been everywhere, there’s always so much to learn about the world! But in this case. Well. There was a Q&A following the lecture, and I’m afraid I -- I spoke up.”

Crowley couldn’t help smiling. “And why not? Wasn’t everyone there to learn?”

“Yes, but I can’t just say ‘I was there four thousand years ago, I know this to be incorrect.’ And yet it’s infuriating to have some, some man up there invalidating my lived experience in front of a whole room full of people!”

“Oh, angel.”

“He made a joke of it. Made a joke of me. And then everyone laughed. Hundreds and hundreds of people, they all laughed at me. And I felt -- well, I felt sick, honestly. Angry and then sick, and then, sad. And I wandered about for a while and couldn’t enjoy myself and so I called you and here I am.”

Aziraphale’s voice was thick with distress. Crowley hadn’t seen him like this in a long time. “We’ll sort you out. You just need a minute.”

“I can’t think why I’m so emotional. They’re strangers, humans, why should I take it to heart? Especially as I know I’m right. But I -- oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed as they pulled up to the grand Victorian edifice where they were staying. “It’s lovely! So romantic!”

Crowley allowed himself a smile, parked, and said “No, no, I’ll come round to let you out,” before Aziraphale could reach for the door handle.

“You spoil me,” Aziraphale murmured.

Not yet, Crowley thought, and his heart swooped as he watched Aziraphale take in the decor of the lobby, and then their room with the massive bed, high corniced ceilings, draped windows looking out on the walled garden. Aziraphale stood in the middle of the room and turned round, and Crowley saw him register the champagne chilling in its silver bucket, the box of chocolates on the pillow, the vase of dahlias on the desk. Then he sat heavily on the bed.

“All right, angel?”

“You’ve made everything so beautiful.” He didn’t sound happy about it.

“Makes sense you’re taking it hard, Aziraphale. The day that marks a loss, doesn’t matter if it’s a year, or five years, or fifty -- people lose their minds a bit. Always very ripe for a temptation, on those mourning days.”

Aziraphale swallowed. “It’s not right. Not fair to you, to either of us. I didn’t only lose something that day. I chose something. I chose you.” He held out his hand, and Crowley came to him and took it. But Aziraphale was still looking down. Crowley sat down next to him, brought Aziraphale’s fingers to his lips.

“You did.”

“And we should be celebrating.” Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “But I feel…”

“Aziraphale. Look at me.” Aziraphale turned his face to Crowley’s. His eyes shone. “Do you want to go home?”

Aziraphale’s lip wobbled and he sniffed and nodded.

Crowley spared the briefest thought for the holiday he had arranged, and then gathered his energy and whisked them away. A moment later, they were sitting not on a hotel bed but on the bookshop’s sofa, and Crowley was fishing Aziraphale’s handkerchief out of his waistcoat pocket and handing it to him.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, dabbing his eyes. And then he gasped, “My dear, your car! The luggage!”

“Don’t worry about it, angel. I’ll keep everything safe.” Crowley kissed his warm, reddened cheek.

“You will, won’t you?” Aziraphale met his eyes then, hazel-bright, a tentative smile crinkling the edges. “You always do.”

“I always do,” Crowley echoed, his heart giving an odd pang. He pressed Aziraphale’s pink mouth gently with his own, a promise. Behind his glasses, his eyes darted around the shop, a compulsive checking that he hadn’t felt the need to do for months. He resisted the impulse to shake his head to clear it, and instead slid to his knees at Aziraphale’s feet. “Now.” He picked up Aziraphale’s foot and began undoing the laces.

“What’s this?”

“I had a spa day planned for you, and I’m blessed if I’m going to let some prat of a historian sod off with it.” He removed Aziraphale’s shoes and socks, then rolled up his trousers to the knee. “No reason I can’t pamper you myself.”

“Darling, you --”

“Shut it.” Crowley snapped his fingers and a basin of warm, frothy water appeared, fragrant with cedar, ylang ylang, and bergamot. He picked up Aziraphale’s perfect pink and white feet, laid a kiss on each instep, and placed them carefully into the water. He looked up to see the little frown lines between his angel’s eyebrows melt away.

“Oh, my dear, that feels wonderful.” Aziraphale was smiling for real now, a generous smile. He hadn’t fully relaxed -- he was letting Crowley know he appreciated this. That was fine, of course, but that wasn’t the goal.

Crowley stood up. “Give me your coat, sweetheart. It’s hot in here.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened a bit as he absorbed Crowley’s tone. Then Crowley watched as his whole body unclenched a fraction. “Yes, my love,” he said, shucking out of the coat and handing it to him. Crowley took it and hung it on the rack along with his jacket. He was about to turn back when he remembered his glasses. He slipped them into his jacket pocket and went into the kitchen and opened the Krug. 

At the pop of the cork, Aziraphale called happily, “You remembered the champagne!”

“‘Course I remembered the champagne.” Crowley said, pouring. He emerged and handed Aziraphale his glass. “To you, my bravest and best.”

“Bravest! I hardly think --”

“You’re forgetting your manners, angel.” Crowley said roughly.

Aziraphale dropped his gaze, blushing, then looked up and toasted Crowley properly. “To me, then. Thank you, my darling.”

They drank, and Crowley murmured “well done” just to watch Aziraphale’s blush deepen. “Now then,” he said, and knelt at Aziraphale’s feet, “I’m gonna tell you a few things, and you are going to listen.” He miracled up a fluffy towel, sea-green, and some sweet almond oil, and laid these down next to the basin, getting things ready. 

“I am, am I?” Aziraphale asked playfully, and Crowley saw the gleam of curiosity in his eyes, just a touch of tightness in his forehead. Game, but concerned.

Crowley dropped a kiss on Aziraphale’s knee, then met his eyes again. “You’ll like it. But you’ve got to just take it. No backtalk. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Aziraphale’s face relaxed, his smile sweet, deep, and mellow as a good Sauternes. “Yes. Of course.”

Crowley could feel his own lips twitching, his blasted face wanting to return the smile -- it had been a year and he was  _ allowed _ , bless it, at last allowed to return those smiles and he still wasn’t used to it -- but it wasn’t the thing, not just now. “Right. So. After everything last year, you spent an awfully long time apologising to me and thanking me for my patience and telling me how wonderful I was and generally swelling my head, and I don’t want you to think I didn’t appreciate it --”

“You didn’t. You squirmed like anything, you old serpent.”

“No backtalk,” Crowley said sternly, narrowing his eyes.

Aziraphale took a sip of champagne and looked terribly pleased with himself.

“My point is, angel, I never properly told you -- never properly acknowledged -- what an extraordinary thing you did that day.”

Crowley studied Aziraphale’s face. He was examining his champagne flute as though he expected something interesting to climb out of it. His cheeks were pink.

“I want it understood, for the record. You did the hardest thing. I was kicked out, and I’m not diminishing that. But you chose to leave. You put home behind you, the place that made you, you said bugger this for a game of soldiers, I won’t fight, I won’t be who they want me to be, and you chose for yourself. Chose the world you wanted, the life you wanted...”

“The love I wanted,” Aziraphale said quietly, raising his eyes.

“Still talking here,” Crowley murmured.

“Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.”

Crowley cleared his throat. “You chose the  _ you _ you wanted. Chose to be you when everything you had ever known was telling you to be someone else. And that takes audacity. Take it from the supposed rebel in the room. You’re a fucking hero.” 

Aziraphale’s smile was the rosy, bashful one he wore whenever Crowley called him a bastard. It would do. He reached for the Krug and refilled Aziraphale’s glass, and this time he returned Aziraphale’s smile. Then, he lifted Aziraphale’s left foot out of the basin and laid it on the towel, drying it carefully.

“Are you finished?” Aziraphale asked after a moment.

“Not remotely. But you may speak,” Crowley said, with a grand flourish. Then he poured some oil into his hand to warm it, rubbed his hands together, and began pressing his thumbs into the ball of Aziraphale’s foot.

“Well, I -- oh my  _ God _ that feels wonderful,” Aziraphale moaned, with one of his delighted (and delightful) little wiggles. Satisfaction sprouted in Crowley’s chest. Saying his piece was one thing, and Aziraphale ought to hear it. Ought to have heard it ages ago. But Crowley figured it wouldn’t properly sink in without the weight of pure animal pleasure behind it. And nothing made Crowley happier than Aziraphale wrapped around a moan.

Crowley worked the sole of Aziraphale’s foot, digging into the plump, soft heel (no calluses on his angel, who liked his weekly mani-pedi), rubbing the length of the arch, and gently twisting his foot back and forth between his palms. Aziraphale’s foot became pliant under his hands, and the angel slumped a little bit on the sofa, fuzzy with wine and sensation. Crowley pushed his knuckles into the arch and Aziraphale sighed and went limp.

“I was going to say,” Aziraphale said weakly, “that you shouldn’t give me credit for doing what I did, at the last possible moment.”

“None of that.” Crowley threaded his fingers between Aziraphale’s toes and spread them gently. “You did it. You could have packed it in, you could have fought for those pillocks instead of against them, you could have given it all up for lost and got too pissed to care.” Like I almost did, Crowley thought, pulling carefully on each toe. He looked round the shop for a moment and shivered.

“No, I couldn’t.” Aziraphale said, smiling fondly.

“You did the hard thing. The brave thing. You showed them all.” Crowley picked up Aziraphale’s other foot and began again.

“You know, I’ve never really thought about it that way. Showing them. As though it were an act of, I don’t know, revenge.” Aziraphale got his mouth around the word as though it were a foreign delicacy he was trying for the first time, one he thought he might eventually acquire a taste for.

Crowley wasn’t fooled for an instant, of course, but he understood his role well enough. “I’ve thought about it plenty.” Carefully, he spread Aziraphale’s foot under his hands and pressed his thumbs into the arch. “Those wankers never knew your worth. They never treated you with the respect you deserve.” Crowley was holding back, the anger strong and cold like a bit behind his teeth. It wasn’t what Aziraphale needed right now.

“I did always think it was a bit hard, that you were so popular with your people, and I was so -- despised -- by my own.” Aziraphale’s voice was reflective. He finished what was in his glass and looked up hopefully. Crowley’s anger melted away at that look, and he felt the soft edge of a smile pushing up the corner of his mouth. He put down Aziraphale’s foot and topped him up.

“They were never my people, angel.” He raised his own glass in a salute. “You’re my people.”

“And you’re mine,” Aziraphale said, meeting his salute with a soft, steady gaze. They drank. Crowley leaned down and pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s lower lip: slow, deliberate, gentle. Aziraphale hummed and parted his lips, but Crowley didn’t take the bait, though the thought of the angel’s sweet tongue made his mouth water. Instead, he clicked his fingers and miracled them both upstairs.

Crowley plucked the box of chocolates off the pillow, saying “Take off your watch and lie down on your side, please.”

Aziraphale did as he was told, discovering the vase of dahlias on the side table when he deposited his watch. “You brought everything,” he marveled. “So clever of you.”

“Got to look after you, don’t I?” Crowley said thickly, and spooned up behind Aziraphale, propped on one elbow. He looked down into his face, those sea-blue eyes, the uptilted nose, the lips just a little wet with champagne, cheeks flushed with wine and pleasure and perhaps anticipation. His angel. All his now. A year of magic, not celestial miracles or cheap coin tricks but the real thing. Crowley’s breath caught in his throat. “Close your eyes, love,” he said. Aziraphale obeyed.

There was a game they liked to play. Well, there were many games. But this one they had played for decades, in public even. As a salute to their past, and because it would give Aziraphale pleasure, Crowley selected a truffle from the box and held it under his nose.

“Mmm,” Aziraphale hummed. “Caramel?”

“Taste it and see.” He moved it to brush the angel’s lips, which parted to embrace the chocolate shell, and then his delicate white teeth emerged and took a nibble. Crowley watched his pink tongue swipe out to catch the slight ooze that dribbled over his lower lip, and felt heat bloom in his belly. “Well?”

Aziraphale made a tiny noise of enthusiasm and, at this distance, Crowley also picked up the minute sounds of his tongue working as he sucked at the gooey center of the thing. Crowley was feeling his own center going a bit gooey as well. “Definitely caramel,” Aziraphale said, swallowing, “dark chocolate, and something slightly bitter, hmm, nutty, quite unexpected. Is it -- is it -- toasted sesame?”

Crowley consulted the cheat sheet that had come with the box. “Correct.” He fed Aziraphale the other half, shivering slightly as the angel’s lips touched his fingers. While Aziraphale chewed, Crowley watched the satisfaction in his face and refrained from kissing him all over or humping his leg like a dog, and felt very impressed with himself for doing so. Time for that later.

The next sweet he selected was a pates de fruits, a bit of a curve ball but something Aziraphale considered a rare treat. He offered it to Aziraphale’s educated nose.

“I’m not getting much of an aroma. There’s no smell of chocolate at all. Something bright. Citrus?”

Crowley lowered the little sugared square and touched Aziraphale’s lip with it. Aziraphale opened. Oh, Crowley loved him.

When Aziraphale’s tongue touched the caster sugar he made a little noise of surprise. When his teeth closed around the sweet he burst into a radiant close-lipped smile, chewing and glowing and wiggling happily. Crowley basked.

“Passionfruit! Oh, darling, my favourite. It’s delicious. May I have the rest, please?”

Crowley gave it to him, of course. And, as there were granules of sugar left on his fingertips, he gave him those as well. Crowley huffed out a breath as Aziraphale’s tongue swept meaningfully over his fingers, and he pressed his erection briefly against Aziraphale’s arse. Just to let him know it was there. Then he rummaged in the box again. “One more.”

“Oh, but --”

“One more. Be good.”

“Of course I’ll be good, my dear. It’s what I’m made for.”

Crowley laughed. “You shameless trollop.”

“Yes, I am.”

This last chocolate seemed to puzzle Aziraphale. His forehead wrinkled fetchingly and his nostrils flared and Crowley wanted to devour him. “Not familiar?”

“It  _ is _ familiar, and yet it’s confusing -- something I don’t associate with chocolate. Tangy but also oddly medicinal? No, that’s not it.”

“Open your pretty mouth, then.”

Aziraphale parted his lips and Crowley watched again as he bit into it gently. “Mmm!”

It was a noise of surprise as much as pleasure. “Yeah?” Crowley grinned. He’d had a feeling about this one. In fact, on a hunch, he’d bought a whole box of them.

Aziraphale was swallowing, smacking his lips a little. “Jasmine! Milk chocolate and jasmine! How remarkable, takes me right back to Fuzhou. Wherever did you get these?”

“San Francisco,” said Crowley, who had in fact selected his goods from several different shops around the world, seeking novelties to tease Aziraphale’s palate. “Thought you’d like something new.”

“They’re lovely. You’re lovely.” Aziraphale pressed his arse back into Crowley and rocked against him. Heat radiated through Crowley’s pelvis, up into his heart, and out through his hands. He popped the rest of the chocolate into Aziraphale’s mouth before it could melt, and bit the back of his neck. Aziraphale sighed and went pliant against him. Crowley dragged his teeth down until he met Aziraphale’s collar and felt the angel shiver. Then he picked up the box of chocolates and handed it to him.

“You can open your eyes now, angel. Have these.” He moved down the bed.

“Oh, yes? And what will you be doing?”

“This,” Crowley said, and wrapped his lips around Aziraphale’s left big toe.

Aziraphale shrieked and almost kicked him in the face. The chocolates went flying and Crowley had to fire off a quick miracle to get them all boxed up before they hit the floor. That had gone well.

He took hold of Aziraphale’s foot in one hand and his round, firm calf in the other and paused until Aziraphale looked down at him. Aziraphale looked slightly shocked, breathless, and like he was trying not to laugh. It was actually a pretty good look on him.

“Podophilia? Really?”

“Relax, angel.”

“Crowley, it tickles!”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Aziraphale. Trussst me.” Aziraphale instantly relaxed into the mattress, taking a deep breath. “That’s right.”

Crowley applied his lips to the angel’s toe again, and then sucked it into his mouth. He felt a twitch in the muscles of Aziraphale’s foot but heard no complaints, and he wasn’t in danger of getting his nose kicked off. Experimentally he wound his tongue into the space between Aziraphale’s first and second toe, and Aziraphale let out a strangled gasp.

“Oh -- oh, it’s -- it’s quite --” Aziraphale’s tentative moan turned into a cascade of giggles and his foot jerked almost out of Crowley’s hands. Crowley backed off, recaptured the errant foot, and placed a kiss on the instep.

“You can take it.” He put a little fire into his voice. “For me. Can’t you?”

“Ye -- yes, my dear.” Aziraphale sounded both willing and none too certain. Crowley kissed his ankle, the delicate bones there with their threading of veins, and up the back of his leg. Soft, so soft. His hands followed his mouth.

Crowley kissed back down to Aziraphale’s toes and sucked the smallest one, barely a morsel, rolling it on his tongue. Aziraphale breathed heavily. Crowley slipped his tongue into the space next to it and Aziraphale’s hips arced off the bed.

“Ah -- ah --”

Interesting. Crowley slithered his tongue up to the next toe and Aziraphale slumped back down again, still panting. The second and fourth spaces seemed to be getting the best responses. Aziraphale was red and sweaty and still punctuating his groans with the occasional giggle, writhing and sometimes jerking, but doing his level best. 

Aroused beyond endurance, Crowley slid up the bed and began unfastening Aziraphale’s flies. Azraphale tilted his head up off the pillow.

“Aren’t you going to do the other one?”

Crowley chuckled. “You,” he pressed a kiss to the hot length of Aziraphale’s cock, still trapped in his trousers, “think too much.”

“I can’t help it. It’s what I do.” Aziraphale waved his neglected foot and batted his eyelashes.

“Yes, yes, all right. But don’t forget who’s in charge here.”

“Never.”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s foot in both hands and unleashed his serpent tongue this time, flickering at the sole while holding Aziraphale steady with all his demonic power while the angel laughed and gasped and writhed. 

“Have -- oh God -- have mercy on me -- ah! Mercy! You foul fie-- eeheeheeheehee!”

“Should I? Should I have mercy on you?” Crowley pretended to think about it. “Oh, I don’t think so.” He slurped three of Aziraphale’s toes into his mouth and wound his tongue around them.

“Fuck!”

Well, then. Aziraphale transitioned into a different sort of writhing, but the giddy joy of this moment had pierced Crowley like a hook in his heart and was spreading its bright infection through his body. His skin was flaming. He went on -- there was no other word for it -- fellating Aziraphale’s toes for a few minutes, a giggle trapped in his own throat, as Aziraphale whined and rolled his hips.

Aziraphale did, in fact, think too much. That had always been the trouble. Crowley had never blamed him for it; after all, they were made of the same stuff, and Crowley’d had his own version of Heavenly abuse to deal with. Aziraphale, he’d always believed, had chosen the harder path. The longer one, at any rate. And with it came too bloody much thinking.

Crowley knew he was -- had always been -- good for Aziraphale. Well, bad for Aziraphale, by which he meant good for Aziraphale. Sometimes this was because he made Aziraphale think  _ more _ , or think  _ differently _ (and Aziraphale would call it temptation but it never was, not once). But the most precious gift he had to offer, Crowley sometimes thought, was to help Aziraphale turn his brain off for a while.

Crowley would turn up with a bottle or a bag of pastries or theatre tickets or just his fast car and a grin and Aziraphale could lose himself for an hour or two, stop the whirling gears of guilt and doubt and anxiety that comprised so much of his life.

Aziraphale was a lot better since he’d chosen Their Side, but the habits of a lifetime are hard to break. Crowley was glad he had so many new tools at his disposal these days.

He dragged his teeth over Aziraphale’s toes and kissed the sole of his foot where it arched delicately toward his ankle. Aziraphale had a little brown mole there. Crowley kissed it, and continued up Aziraphale’s tapered ankle, his fat round calf to where his trouser leg was rolled. Crowley pushed it up, got his mouth on the back of Aziraphale’s knee, and licked there. Aziraphale smelled particularly Aziraphale in this spot, fresh rain and that warm woody papery something that Crowley could never classify -- his nose was more sensitive than Aziraphale’s but he’d never educated it. “Mmm,” he sighed into the soft warm hollow. Aziraphale’s succulent thigh arced away from him inside his linen trousers and Crowley wanted it. But he was losing the thread here.

Crowley slid his hands up Aziraphale’s legs and cradled his balls through the linen. Aziraphale purred and rocked his hips into Crowley’s hand. Crowley stroked his other hand over Aziraphale’s cock, half hard and beginning to fill further as he tended it carefully. He leant down to mouth Aziraphale’s balls through the fabric, exhaling hot breath over them and feeling them move under his lips.

“You’ve done so well for me today, angel.”

“Oh, darling. I do want to.”

“Can you keep completely, utterly still for me now? So I don’t have to hold you down?”

Aziraphale drew in a breath sharply, and Crowley felt him stiffen under his palm. “I can. I will, my dear,” he said softly.

“Lovely. So lovely,” Crowley murmured, and worked quickly to take Aziraphale’s cock out, thick and ruddy and curving sweetly against Aziraphale’s belly where it sprang from its blond nest. Crowley’s mouth still watered at the sight. He looked up and met Aziraphale’s eyes, dark and wanton.  _ When I’m done with you, sweetheart, you won’t have a thought left in your head. _

He breathed over Aziraphale’s cock and watched it twitch, yearning toward his lips. He slipped his hand down to stroke Aziraphale’s balls, running his thumb over the tender skin and feeling them rise and tighten. He exhaled more heat over Aziraphale’s cockhead and the angel moaned softly. Then he let his tongue out, all of it.

Aziraphale clutched the quilt as Crowley licked with increasing pressure around the head of his cock, and over the tip, lapping up pre-come, then dipping down to tease the frenulum. The angel’s salty-sweet taste made him feel drunk, as it always did -- once he got started he couldn’t stop.

“Oh, you tease,” Aziraphale moaned, as Crowley wound his tongue around him, slithering up and down, tasting him everywhere he could reach.

Crowley chuckled and slid his hands under Aziraphale’s beautiful arse, lifting his hips so he could lick his perineum, pressing gently, teasing his hole with the tip of his tongue. Aziraphale melted under him, opening up like the greedy bastard he was. Crowley smiled against him and then sucked one of his balls into his mouth. The angel’s desperate whine went straight to his prick.

Crowley settled Aziraphale’s hips back onto the duvet and attended to his other ball before any such omission could be suggested. He noted the tiny movements Aziraphale’s thighs were making as Aziraphale, perhaps unconsciously in his heat or perhaps to see what he could get away with, rocked his hips a fraction. Crowley immediately ceased all stimulation.

“Now, now, none of that,” he said sternly. “Keep still, remember?”

“You make it so difficult,” Aziraphale panted. “It’s very wrong of you to torment me this way.” A playful smile lifted the corner of his lips and Crowley crawled up his beautiful soft body to kiss it.

“Demon,” he said. “As you should know by now.” He ground his cock against Aziraphale’s for a moment and the friction, both rough and tender, made him catch his breath.

“I want you so much,” Aziraphale said, soft and low. “Don’t make me wait. Please.”

In spite of all his worst intentions, Crowley’s prick spouted precome at that. He should never have taught Aziraphale the fine arts of temptation, all those years ago, Arrangement be blessed. He never stood a chance when Aziraphale fucking  _ insinuated _ , but today was different. To buy himself some time, Crowley kissed him, slow and deep.

In the normal course of events, he would spend hours satisfying Aziraphale, making him come over and over again, the angel’s lusts being more or less inexhaustible. And he had planned, originally, to do the same today.

But today, what his angel wanted and what his angel needed weren’t the same thing.

Crowley broke the kiss and took Aziraphale’s face in his hands, meeting those eyes, dark now like a twilight sky. “You are the most desirable creature who ever walked. I am going to take everything I want from you. I am going to have you every way I like, and you are going to love it like the insatiable glutton you are. And if you’re very, very lucky, I might let you come.”

He held the angel’s gaze, waiting. Aziraphale had flushed at the end of his first sentence and then gone redder and redder as Crowley spoke -- Crowley, who normally was not the dirty talker between the two of them, had caught him by surprise. But not, it appeared, in an unwelcome way. Aziraphale’s lips were parted and his breath was coming fast. Crowley could see his accelerated pulse beating in his throat. His eyes looked a little glassy. “Yes,” he breathed, “Oh, yes, Crowley. Oh, please.”

Funny how that word,  _ please _ , sounded different now. Aziraphale was begging. Crowley thought he could get used to it. He bit Aziraphale’s plump lower lip and sucked it into his mouth, then planted biting kisses over his soft, sweet-smelling neck and up behind his ear, where he sank his teeth in and worried the flesh, growling like an animal. Aziraphale cried out.  _ I love you so fucking much, _ Crowley thought.

He dispatched all of their clothes with a quick miracle, sending Aziraphale’s to a folded pile on the night table within eyeshot (he wasn’t a complete barbarian). Then he slid behind his angel and wrapped his arms around him, dragging his teeth across the back of his neck and grinding his prick against the pillow of Aziraphale’s arse. The firm muscle beneath Aziraphale’s delectable softness made Crowley want to rut mindlessly, heat gathering in the center of him. “Fuck, you feel terrific,” he growled into Aziraphale’s ear. “So gorgeous, angel. I can’t wait to get between those sweet thighs.”

A click of his fingers anointed his hands with oil, and he ran them over the inside of Aziraphale’s plump white legs. The skin here was unspeakably soft, and Aziraphale sighed as Crowley stroked it, pressing back against him, nudging his arse against Crowley’s prick. “I hope it’s all right for me to move now?” Aziraphale asked huskily.

“Only in shameless abandon,” Crowley mouthed into his shoulder, as he gripped his prick and slid it into the hot, slick space between Aziraphale’s thighs. “Close your legs now, angel, I want you tight -- fuck -- yeah, just like that.”

“Oh, darling,” Aziraphale breathed, as Crowley thrust against him, brushing the cushion of his balls, embraced everywhere by silky skin and gorgeous friction. Aziraphale’s arse pressed against Crowley’s stomach and Crowley wrapped his arms around his angel, squeezing his plump chest with love and need as he moved. He very deliberately did not touch Aziraphale’s cock.

Aziraphale’s hands fluttered for a moment and then landed on Crowley’s forearms, digging in with his short nails. Crowley kissed the back of his neck and grunted, “Good, so good for me. You lovely thing.”

Crowley had never spoken to Aziraphale this way before. This was Aziraphale’s language, typically, and Crowley had resisted it at first before eventually admitting to himself that he adored hearing it. He’d always known that people speak to a lover the words they secretly long to hear, and yet he’d never thought to flip the script until today. A year to the day when it had all gone so horribly wrong, and then so wonderfully right.

“Aziraphale, you are fucking  _ perfect. _ I love you this way, the way you feel, the way you cry out, the way you breathe, the way you look at me --” Crowley’s prick burned as the gathering in his balls connected to the ache in his heart, and he clutched now at Aziraphale’s hips as he drove raggedly into the slippery heat of his thighs. “I want you like this -- all the time. Want you -- always -- always -- fuck --” Crowley was practically insensible, right on the edge, but the part of him that never let go of what Aziraphale needed was still there. “You’re gonna make me come -- you want it?”

“Yes, yes, give it to me!”

Crowley came in long, deep, generous waves, rocking against Aziraphale’s hot, soft body and groaning into his shoulder. It seemed to go on for ages, crests of pleasure buffeting him over and over as he sobbed and, finally, laughed. Aziraphale’s hands still dug into his arms -- he would probably have bruises.

Finally, he rolled Aziraphale over on his back and got a look at him. The angel looked as aroused as he had ever seen him. His face and chest were flushed, his pupils fat black saucers, his lips rosy. His thighs, balls, and groin were covered in the prodigious mess that Crowley had made of him. And his cock was so hard it was defying gravity, the head purple and dribbling pre-come all over Aziraphale’s plump belly. Crowley needed that.

But first, he swiped his fingers through the come on Aziraphale’s thigh and dangled them above Aziraphale’s face. A drop splashed on the perfect curve of his upper lip and Aziraphale’s tongue darted out to lick it away. The angel opened his mouth for more and Crowley grew hard again, just like that. He pressed his fingers into Aziraphale’s hot mouth and Aziraphale sucked them greedily. Well, fuck. Crowley grinned.

“You want more?”

Aziraphale tilted his head down and sparkled at him. “You know I do. I love it.”

“You little --” Crowley scooped up jizz from Aziraphale’s thighs, balls, everywhere he could find it and fed it to him, and the angel smacked his lips and took it all.

“More,” Aziraphale begged.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid we seem to have run out,” Crowley said, scooting down to where Aziraphale’s fat red cock sprouted from its golden curls. “Dear, dear, whatever shall we do,” he said drily, and sucked it into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Aziraphale gasped, and Crowley felt the angel’s hands in his hair. He plucked them out and held them firmly to the mattress for a moment, then let them go. Aziraphale whined.

Crowley slid off him and gave him a look. “I’ll remind you just once. I’ll have you however I like. You’ll lie there and take it.”

“Yes, yes,” Aziraphale huffed, “Just -- please, don’t stop.”

Crowley chuckled and swallowed him back down. Aziraphale sucked in a sharp breath and fisted the quilt. Typically at this point he would be telling Crowley all about how good he was, but that was not on the cards today. Instead, Crowley worshiped Aziraphale’s thick cock, scrubbing it with his tongue and opening his throat to embrace it, and he listened to the angel’s gasps and groans.

Before Aziraphale could climb too high, Crowley slowed down, wrapped his fist around the base of his cock, and licked it like a lolly for a while. Aziraphale panted and shivered and fuck, that was lovely. What Crowley honestly wanted for himself at this moment was to suck Aziraphale to a shrieking climax, ideally with maximum hair-pulling. But he knew he could have that at any time. Crowley silently thanked Aziraphale, the only being he prayed to anymore. He slipped two fingers into his mouth and got them wet, then worked them behind Aziraphale’s balls, circling his arsehole.

“Please, oh, please, yes, yes,” Aziraphale gushed. Delightful.

Crowley took him back into his throat and worked his fingers slowly inside -- as slowly as he could manage, given that the angel had softened like butter under his touch. Crowley slid in just to the second knuckle and Aziraphale wailed and then bit his lip. He was desperate to move, Crowley knew, to thrust his hips and slam down on Crowley’s hand, to fill himself if Crowley wasn’t going to do it for him as usual, but he didn’t dare.

Crowley swallowed around him again and again but moved his fingers as little as possible, letting Aziraphale feel the fullness, the stretch, but no more. Nevertheless, he could tell from Aziraphale’s breathing that he was getting close, so he pulled off again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Aziraphale chanted.

“You are so gorgeous like this, sweetheart,” Crowley said, planting maddening little kisses on his belly and hips. “I could keep you like this all the time. Naked and hard and wet for me, on the edge all day and all night. Would you like that?”

“Oh my God,” Aziraphale gasped, and spouted pre-come onto his belly. 

“Would you? I could keep you tied to the bed. Or maybe you’d just stay there for me, since you like it so much. Ready to be fucked at any time. Would you like it?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Are you ready for it now?” Crowley worked his fingers in Aziraphale’s arse, a little faster, a little harder.

Aziraphale groaned. He was red and dewy with sweat and panting and he was happy -- Crowley could see how happy he was. “God, yes, Crowley.”

“Tell me you want it. Beg me for it.”

“Please.” Aziraphale’s voice was a thick, plaintive whimper. “Please fuck me.”

Crowley’s heart expanded; his prick thrummed with need. He picked up one of Aziraphale’s legs, kissed the sole of his foot, and lifted it up over his shoulder. “I will,” he said, slicking up his prick and taking Aziraphale’s plush arse in both hands. “I will,” he said, nudging against Aziraphale’s hole as Aziraphale seized desperately at his own blond curls and opened up hot and sweet for him.

Fuck, it was good. And then he almost laughed and thought, why edit himself? “Fuck, that’s good. I love fucking you, angel, I love your sweet arse, I love taking you like this, hard and deep and making you need it. You need it, yeah?”

Aziraphale, it appeared, was powerless to resist him. “I need it, I need it, give it to me, oh, fuck, Crowley, go hard!”

Crowley was also powerless to resist -- he had meant to start slow, but Aziraphale’s slick heat had sucked him down ferociously and before he knew it he was hammering into him, balls deep and sweating, chasing his own pleasure in a way he’d never done before. “Fuck, so good -- angel -- you gorgeous beast --”

Aziraphale had begged him for this, was still begging him for it -- “Yes! Yes! Harder!” -- but Crowley was a demon of his word, and he was having Aziraphale as  _ he _ liked, which at the moment meant hard, fast, and relentless. He wasn’t concerning himself with angles, he wasn’t trying to stroke Aziraphale’s prostate, he wasn’t touching Aziraphale’s cock: something had flown apart inside him and all he cared about was the sensation in his prick, the sticky itchy heat all over his skin, Aziraphale soft and screaming beneath him, his, his, his.

He came with a shout in a burst of covetous glee. Grinning, he rode out the last waves, thrusting and gnawing Aziraphale’s ankle as the angel panted and gazed at him, frantic. Crowley could see the whites of his eyes.

“I -- you -- you can’t -- mean to stop --” Aziraphale gulped, his voice strained and high. His hands were clenching and releasing in his own hair, thigh muscles tightening rhythmically, chasing his own release.

“Never,” Crowley growled. “You see what you’ve done to me, turned me into a mindless thing, all I want is to take you and take you, over and over until time ceases to exist.” Still hard, always hard for Aziraphale, he gave a slow thrust -- this time, angled perfectly. Aziraphale gasped and shut his eyes. “I want you. I love you.” He pulled both of Aziraphale’s legs up now to make it as good for him as he could, wished a pillow under his arse and folded him almost in half so he could hit that sweet spot every time. Crowley was putting his back into it, enjoying his human muscles doing the hard work, his legs trembling, covered in sweat. Aziraphale was gorgeous, red all over and panting. And on every stroke, Crowley gave him praise. “Your beauty, your brilliance, your heart, your greed…”

Aziraphale’s halo was out, washing him in its bright silvery light. He keened every time Crowley bottomed out, back arching, his magnificent cock flushed and drooling all over his belly. Crowley wanted it in his hand, but no.

“Come like this -- come on my cock -- come on me fucking you -- so hard -- so good --”

Saying it was pushing Crowley to the edge again, the burn of friction building in his prick as the image built in his mind and his eyes, his angel spread out before him, wrecked and desperate, getting what he needed at last.

“Yes! I can -- you can make me --”

“Come for me -- my best -- my bravest -- my miracle -- come for me!”

Aziraphale threw his head back and wailed as he ejaculated all over his chest, his body squeezing rhythmically around Crowley’s prick, milking him as he fucked Aziraphale through it as hard as he could. Aziraphale went on and on, spurting and crying out, his face creased in an agony of pleasure. Crowley had never seen him like this, had never made him come so long. There were tears wetting his lashes, gleaming in his holy radiance.

“There you are. There you are, angel. My love.” Crowley slowed his strokes as Aziraphale shuddered to a stop, and leant forward to kiss his chest, his throat. Aziraphale breathed heavily, his limbs askew, wet with sweat and come and barely moving but for the heaving of his belly with each inhalation. Crowley made a last lazy thrust and then slowly pulled out. He was still hard, but he didn’t think Aziraphale had anywhere left to go.

Aziraphale did however make his habitual noise of discontent, the one he made whenever Crowley’s prick slipped out of him. Crowley thought of asking, as he usually would, if Aziraphale wanted more.

Suddenly he found himself flipped onto his back with an angel riding him. Aziraphale wore a triumphant grin and his wings were out.

“Do you -- think I -- am a  _ human? _ ” Aziraphale panted, a fierce gleam lighting his eyes as he milked Crowley’s prick for all he was worth. “To be -- ruined -- by a single -- orgasm? Do you  _ know _ who I  _ am??? _ ”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Crowley laughed, flipping them over again and rutting into Aziraphale with energy. He wasn’t about to let Aziraphale run the show today. “Not this time. Unh, you feel fantastic.” He paused to shower Aziraphale’s knee with kisses since it was conveniently in reach. “I know --  _ exactly --  _ who you are.” He slowed his hips and wrapped his hand around Aziraphale’s cock, giving it the long twisting stroke the angel liked best. Aziraphale’s eyes rolled back and Crowley grinned. “You are the flower of my heart. You are the Angel of the Eastern Gate and the keeper of my soul, and I will ruin you with as many orgasms as you like.”

“I love you,” Aziraphale moaned, writhing.

“But today, Aziraphale, you will kindly let  _ me _ do the ruining.” He pushed Aziraphale’s straining thighs back a little, easing them into a gentle grind, a friendly, congenial sort of fuck quite different to what had been going on before. He made sure to nudge Aziraphale’s prostate every second or third stroke, building and teasing. 

“Yes, my darling, oh, fuck, ruin me. Ruin me, you’re so  _ good  _ at it…”

Babble indicated the angel was close. Crowley looked up to see he’d put his wings away, but the halo was still out, and Aziraphale’s eyes were open, searching his face in wonder and pleasure. A thrill ran through him as their eyes met.

Aziraphale’s cock felt fat and delicious in his hand and he began to jack it more quickly as he felt Aziraphale’s muscles clamp down around him. “Come. You precious thing.”

Aziraphale did, slamming his eyes shut and arching his back, swelling in Crowley’s hand and clutching around him and yelling about God and love and Crowley in no particular order. In a friendly, congenial sort of way -- all right, flooding with passion as usual -- Crowley came inside Aziraphale, groaning into his neck.

And what a friendly, congenial thrill it was to feel Aziraphale’s arms around him now, now that their game was over for the moment and Crowley could come down to earth with his head on the angel’s breast. A year of this. Perfection. Worth the wait? Crowley had stopped asking this particular question.

Their breathing slowed. Crowley felt hot and unpleasantly sticky. Aziraphale, who loved the flavors, smells, and textures of sex, enjoyed lounging around covered in post-coital goop, but Crowley was calling the shots today. He thought about miracling it all away.

“Angel?”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale’s voice was soft and a bit dazed. Yup, no thinking going on in there. Excellent work, Crowley. Well done, five stars.

“Get up.”

“What? No. Why?”

“Get up, or I will  _ make _ you.”

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” Aziraphale huffed, rising to a seated position and wincing a bit. Crowley stood and gave him a hand.

“Yeah, you do,” he said, leading Aziraphale to the bathroom. The bath was miraculously full of bubbly, lavender-perfumed water at just the right temperature. The second bottle of Krug and fresh glasses appeared on the counter, next to the as-yet-untasted chocolates.

“Ooh! Yes, I do,” Aziraphale smiled, and kissed him on the nose. Crowley ushered him into the tub and then got in behind him, tending to his back with the loofah. Aziraphale splashed at the semen on his belly. “Such a pity to waste it,” he said archly.

“More where that came from,” Crowley said, scrubbing down his arm. “Do you want the champagne now, or shall I wash your hair?”

Aziraphale turned to twinkle at him over his shoulder. “You choose.”

So Crowley ran warm water through the angel’s effervescent curls, scritching at his scalp, and rubbed the sandalwood shampoo in, and rinsed, and complained for the thousandth time that Aziraphale really should use a conditioner, at which Aziraphale for the thousandth time scoffed and said his hair was soft enough, thank you, and Crowley couldn’t really argue with that, so he shut it for a minute and handed Aziraphale his glass of champagne.

A year ago, he’d lay on the floor below in flames, certain he’d lost Aziraphale forever. They’d never talked about it. He thought, after today, maybe they should.

Just now, though, he had an armload of fucked-out angel and a glass of champagne and he was content. And the day was still relatively young.

“You know, if we miracle it, we can still make our dinner reservation at Number One.”

“Tempting.”

“But?”

Aziraphale shifted a bit. “I’m not sure I want to -- go back. To the festival.” He leant back more solidly in Crowley’s arms. “I’m so very happy here with you.”

Crowley kissed his damp temple. “C’mon. Don’t you want to be there when I throw the full force of my demonic wrath at Ethan Standhope?”

Aziraphale tutted. “Surely the best revenge is living well.” He took a sip of Krug. A minute ticked by. Crowley bided his time. “What were you going to do?”

Crowley grinned. “Revoke his parking permit, put laxative in his coffee, and change the schedule at the last minute so his signing is opposite J.K. Rowling’s.”

Aziraphale giggled. “Well, I have to say, I wouldn’t mind seeing that.”

Crowley put down his glass and touched Aziraphale’s face, turning it in his hands. “Let’s run away together.” He kissed him lightly. “For the weekend.”

“For always,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley’s eyes stung.

“What, you want to live in Edinburgh?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aziraphale smiled, kissing him soundly. 

Crowley was ridiculous, he knew. He was a settled demon, not only happy but content. What could be more ridiculous than that? Unless it was an angel who still worried what people thought of him. Fortunately, he had Crowley to look after him.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [juliet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliet), who betaed and Britpicked and who knows about phone boxes and B&Bs and book festivals. Thank you, my friend, for your lightning-quick turnaround and your wisdom, as always!
> 
> I am also grateful to my partner P., for supplying Ethan Standhope’s name.
> 
> The first anniversary is traditionally celebrated with gifts of paper. The traditional color is gold.


End file.
